


Echo

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Extra Treat, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-13 07:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19246591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: “Stephen,” Tony says. “Hey, look at me.”Strange doesn’t. He looks right through Tony as if Tony is on another world.





	Echo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [28ghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/28ghosts/gifts).



> I really hope you like this treat, 28ghosts!

The sound of glass breaking echoes down the long hall. Lights are low in the Sanctum, and the windows provide little help with the sun already set behind the Manhattan skyline.

Tony is quick to arrive on the scene. It's a rare occurrence that the sure hands of his doctor-turned-wizard boyfriend fail. Tony wants to be around to witness as much of the fallout as possible.

(Ok, ‘boyfriend’ may be overstating things, but Tony has a toothbrush in the Sanctum now. Toothbrushes mean serious business.)

It's funny to remember how much he and Strange hated each other at first. Tony first knew Strange as a humorless rod. They met at some industry party or other. For the life of him, Tony can’t remember if it was his industry or Strange’s. It didn't take long for Strange to distinguish himself in not-great ways.

Tony wrote Strange off as yet another douchebag saving lives for the investment potential. Waste of damn fine looks, nothing more. Tony tripped on his own shoes when he spotted Strange on the street years later. The guy was dressed like an extra for Lord of the Rings.

Tony doesn't know the story of what happened in the years they spent apart. Strange stopped practicing medicine, that much Tony knows. He went off on a crazy holiday in Nepal. Came back believing he was a master of the mystic arts or something.

It's weird, but hey, it’s New York. Tony doesn’t have room to talk anyway. He has the operating base for a nanotechnology defense system plastered to his chest.

Besides, Tony has a thing for guys who fall short of normal. Strange - well, his last name says it all. In his high-rolling former doctor life, Tony only gave Strange a quick once-over. Now that Strange thinks he’s Merlin? Tony’s caught hook, line and sinker.

What was once a full tumbler of whiskey in Strange's hand is now a puddle of liquor and broken glass on the floor. “You sure this is your first drink, doc?” Tony grins. “I won’t be happy if you’ve been fishing in the aged shelf without me.”

Tony shoots an annoyed look at the living cape-thing Strange wears. He's never been one for third wheels, especially of the shouldn’t-be-alive variety. But the cloak usually has some value. The thing is tied to Strange. It provides a helping hand (hem?) when Strange is in the middle of his studies. Dusts off old bookshelves and cauldrons of the cosmos. The thing even whips up a mean stack of pancakes.

Saving a sorcerer supreme from a spilled drink seems in line with the outerwear's duties. But instead of cleaning up the mess, the cloak is coiled around Strange’s hands.

When Tony gets closer, he sees why. Strange’s hands are shaking. Not in an ‘oh shit, I dropped something’ way. They’re shaking like something is wrong.

Strange's fingers stretch out like he's reaching for something. He isn't looking at Tony, the cloak, or the mess of glass around his feet. Strange's wide eyes stare straight ahead at nothing.

This isn’t completely unheard of from Strange. Magic is weird, and sometimes it makes its practitioners do weird things. There was the time Strange’s hands turned green and he couldn’t leave the Sanctum for three whole days. Or that time Strange fell asleep on a Sunday and didn’t wake back up until Wednesday. Or that awesome time when Strange's libido went _crazy_. Tony had never seen a person so horny. It was a challenge he was more than happy to tackle.

Tony doesn’t like the fear in Strange’s eyes though. Strange's breath stutters out like he’s trying to speak but failing. His hands won’t stop shaking.

“Hey, we ok? Strange?” ‘We’ has become a force of habit. Strange’s messes have a way of involving Tony more often than not.

(Also, totally boyfriends.) 

Strange doesn’t look at Tony. He doesn’t move at all, actually, except for the tremor in his hands. Tony laces their fingers together. Strange's feel cold.

Tony and Strange’s cloak don’t get along - how does one get along with a piece of clothing exactly? But the cloak wraps tightly around Strange’s wrists when Tony takes his hands. The garment is trying to keep him from shivering.

It’s an effort Tony can get behind. He tightens his fingers in Strange’s and steps into his line of sight. Broken glass crunches under his leather shoes. "Stephen,” he says. There’s a sign of concern: using the guy’s first name. “Hey, look at me.”

Strange doesn’t. He looks right through Tony as if Tony is on another world. “Stephen,” Tony repeats. “Look at me.” He puts his face right in front of Strange’s. “I’m right here. Look at me.”

“Tony?” Strange's eyes widen like he’s seeing Tony for the first time. He looks down at Tony’s hands in his, and the cloak wound around his wrists.

“You’re alright, you’re back.” Tony tries for his most reassuring smile. “Good. Great. For that scare, I’ll even pour you a fresh drink. How about-” The words die in Tony's throat when Strange embraces him.

Strange hugging him is weird. They have sex - a lot of it, thank you very much. But embracing seems to be beyond Strange’s comfort level. Tony hasn’t minded. He’s all for stretching close after a satisfying round in the sack or some lazy kissing on the couch. But if Strange doesn’t want to hug, fine by Tony.

What's crazy is that Strange is hugging him so _fiercely_. Like he can’t believe Tony, who’s already been here an hour, is in the Sanctum at this moment. The same Tony who lives a few blocks away. Same guy who can get over here in twenty minutes.

(Ten minutes if Tony drives a few miles over the speed limit - which is 99.9% of the time.)

Tony cranes to see as much as he can of Strange’s face buried in the crook of his shoulder. “I’ve got you,” Tony says carefully. “We’re ok. Whatever it is.”

“Whatever it takes,” Strange mumbles against his shoulder.

It's not what Tony said at all. He kneads fingers through Strange's hair and hopes that the gesture is somewhat comforting. This is the first time Tony can remember seeing Strange this vulnerable. It's entirely new territory.

Minutes pass before Strange is able to take a step back. The shine of unshed tears makes Tony’s own eyes widen with concern. “Hey,” Tony says, putting out a hand.

Strange ducks away from it. “I think I dropped my drink.”

“You did,” Tony says. “Wasted some damn good whiskey. We’ll keep you on a shorter leash from now on.” Despite the light words, Tony isn’t smiling.

“I-” Strange takes a stumbling step back. “Let me get a towel.”

“Or,” Tony interrupts, reaching for Strange’s hands. This time, Strange is not able to evade him. His fingers shake less but still enough to keep Tony on edge. “How about you lie down and let your hot, doting boyfriend handle the spill? I think that sounds like a fantastic plan.”

A faint smile plays on Strange’s face. “Oh, is it ‘boyfriend’ now?” But a shadow of something Tony doesn’t like lingers in Strange’s eyes.

“It’s actually ‘hot, doting boyfriend',” Tony corrects. Forcing a smile, he guides Strange in the direction of the bedroom. “Why don’t you and the World’s Most Lively Outerwear get comfortable? I’ve got this.”

Strange nods, but he still doesn't look comfortable. “Thanks, Tony,” he says. Tony doesn’t miss Strange's glance over his shoulder. It's like Strange is still looking for something.

“Thank _you_ ,” Tony says in his lightest voice. “Glad you're good. I didn’t want to break out the suit to snap you out of it.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” A twinkle that reminds Tony more of Strange appears. The expression takes Tony’s concern level down a good five notches.

As Strange retreats down the hall, gently aided by the cloak, Tony wonders if this is all a weird magic thing. Some blip on the radar of another astral plane. Maybe Strange is strong enough to feel disturbances on a cosmic scale. Or Strange is just embarrassed he dropped his drink.

Tony chooses to trust the latter as he jogs downstairs to fetch a towel and the dustpan. 

(Also, he knows where the towels and dustpan are. Definitely hot, doting boyfriend material.)

***

Tony’s eyes snap open.

The bedroom is dark, save a few city lights sifting through half-closed blinds. He squints up at the ceiling. Outside, the engine of a passing car hums by.

From his back in the dark, Tony takes stock of his surroundings. Bedroom door closed. Bedsheets circled around his waist. Fingers limp over his bare chest. The space next to him, still occupied by a sleeping Strange.

Tony lifts his head at a low rustling. He finds Strange shaking in his sleep. Errant hair sticks to the sweat on Strange's forehead. Strange takes staggered breaths through an open mouth. Tension pulls his throat tight and fists his hands against his sides.

Strange's past seems to conjure up its fair share of nightmares. It’s an unfortunate quality they both share, and something they’re both unwilling to talk about. It’s not that Tony doesn’t trust Strange with the demons of his past. But there are some burdens Tony doesn’t feel right sharing, and he’s sure Strange feels the same way.

Some nights, Tony turns a deaf ear to the uncomfortable moans at his side. Or he plays with Strange’s hair until whatever bad dream leaves him alone.

But tonight’s seems like a bad one. Or, it's possible Tony is reading into it because of everything else he’s seen today. 

Tony sets a gentle hand on Strange's shoulder. "Hey-"

He recoils when Strange jolts off the mattress. Strange's fear catches on a painful-sounding gasp. He chokes down air, head hunched between his shoulders.

"Jesus," Tony breathes. He's so startled, it takes a moment to remember where he is. "Stephen, hey," he says. It's impossible to hide his concern from his voice.

A bead of sweat rolls down Strange's spine, and Tony rethinks his idea to gather Strange up in his arms. Instead, he sits at Strange's side and drapes a hand over the nape of his neck. Strange tenses beneath him. His down turned face is damp.

The bedsheets pool around Strange's waist. In his lap, his hands curl into painful looking claws. His fingers shake violently. Frowning, Tony pulls one hand into his lap. He folds his fingers with Strange's as best he can.

He's always loved Strange's hands. Tony never thought of himself as having a hand thing, but Strange's caught his attention early. They're blemishless. So clean. Tony has never been able to prove it, but he's certain that Strange must have them manicured. His hands are broad and strong but still soft and warm. All Tony needs is a firm hand down his torso to get him ready for bed.

Tony doesn't want Strange in pain in general. But the sight of Strange's fingers clenched and trembling hits Tony on an emotional level. "Did you hurt your hands?" he asks.

"Tony." For a second, Tony doesn't believe it's Strange who speaks. His voice breaks like he's on the verge of tears.

"What is it?" Tony asks. "Was it a dream, or - hey," he gathers Strange's other hand in his lap. "Did something happen?"

"I…" Strange's mouth lingers after his voice dies.

Tony jokes all the time that Strange needs to watch his mouth. They give each other hell, it's their thing. But Strange's dry sarcasm is one of Tony's favorite things about him. Any situation seems less harrowing with Strange's deadpan wit.

To see Strange at a complete loss… Tony isn't sure what to feel or do.

"Is this a magic thing?" Tony asks. He knows Strange is in bad shape when he can't even spare a glare for the dismissive wizardry reference. "Is it the same thing as before?" He tries to hold Strange's hands as still as possible. It’s not as easy as it seems. Strange’s hands shudder in a state of constant vibrato.

“I saw you die,” Strange says. He stares at his hands clasped in Tony’s lap. “So many people died...or vanished, or… I’m not sure.” Strange closes his eyes. “I saw you die.”

Vanishing people sounds as ‘nightmarey’ as nightmares can be. “Yeah well, I’m still alive and kicking.” Tony puts on a smile. “Crisis averted, right? Unless the ‘me being alive’ part _is_ the nightmare. Which I’ll take marginal offense to, seeing as we’ve reached the boyfriend stage.”

No smile. Not even one of Strange’s dismissive snorts.

The smile sinks from Tony’s face. “Sounds pretty terrible,” Tony admits. “But it’s not real. You’re awake. You’re here with me. Try to relax your hands. I’m serious, you’re going to hurt yourself-”

“It was real.” Strange looks at him, and there’s something to his expression Tony doesn’t like. Some vacant, resigned hollowness that overtakes the fear. “I saw you die. I led you to it.”

“You _led_...” Tony lets go of Strange's hands.

This is getting weird. Which also isn’t unheard of when it comes to Stephen Strange. Things get weird in Tony’s line of work too, but science compartmentalizes that weirdness. Strange’s ‘weird’ spills off in too many messy directions. As hard as Tony tries, it’s hard to keep hold on Strange for long.

The truth is, Tony wishes Strange would give it all up, or at least take it easy on the magic business for awhile. Strange is a smart guy, one of the smartest Tony’s ever met. He still can’t wrap his brain around how a man like Strange turns from a life of medicine to, well, Harry Potter.

The deeper Tony dives into this crazy life with Strange, the more uneasy Tony gets. There will come a time when Strange stumbles into something Tony won’t be able to get him out of.

Fear of significant other’s wizarding adventures. It can't be the oddest hangup to ever affect a relationship.

“Stephen.” Tony cups Strange’s face in his hands. It takes a moment for Strange’s sluggish eyes to focus on him. “I’m right here,” he says. “You saw someone, great. That person wasn’t me. And whoever led him to it wasn’t you.” He shrugs, trying for lightness. “We’ve got enough to worry about without whatever is going on in some alternate reality.”

It’s crazy talk. Alternate realities. Alternate thems. Some other place where people vanish into thin air and Tony would actually _die_ because Strange told him to. It takes all Tony’s power to sound convincing about a possibility that doesn't compute in his mind.

Strange nods like he actually buys some of what Tony just tried to sell him. His head sinks, cheek against the inside of Tony’s hand. Tony runs a thumb over his lips. He gets a sigh for his efforts, and a nice, warm feeling slides into his belly. Strange’s hands settle against Tony’s sides. The fingers still twitch, but their previous tension is gone.

“I don’t know why this one is so strong,” Strange mumbles. “There are others too. So many others, but they’re whispers. A glimpse here and there. But this one - it’s so close. I _feel_ it.”

Yeah, definitely weird. But it’s more than Strange usually shares about the insane stuff he’s wrapped up in. Tony feels a vulnerability here that he can’t remember getting from Strange before. Even Tony is self-aware enough not to kick a gift horse in the mouth.

“I guess you can’t stand the thought of losing me,” Tony reasons, smiling. “I mean, I’m kind of amazing - in this reality, obviously, but I assume any me out there would be pretty great.”

“Right,” Strange says. “Pretty great.” The clipped response sounds a lot more like him.

“But, let me tell you. Out of all the you’s out there?” Tony taps a finger against Strange’s chest. “I’d pick this one. Most times. Like 9 times out of 10.”

It’s a risk, pushing the humor, but one that pays off in a surprised laugh. Color is beginning to return to Strange's face.

Tony shrugs, feigning thought. “I mean, there was that one Strange who quit medicine to become an exotic dancer. Full Chippendale’s, tux on top, nothing on bottom. That you’s a winner.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Strange says. The words are too sarcastic for the tone they’re said in. Soft and grateful. Another first from Strange.

“I am,” Tony agrees. “Definitely unbelievable. Also, I’m going to kiss you now. Because that seems like a good idea. Are you good with that? One kiss from your hot boyfriend?”

Strange rolls his eyes. “Stop talking,” he says, which is as good as a yes in Tony’s book.

Strange is still warm from sleep, soft and welcoming. Tony brushes sweat-damp hair from Strange's forehead. Strange’s hands slip from his sides to settle in a loose knot against the small of his back. Funny, because Tony’s hands are on Strange’s back too. And in his hair. And on his chest. Strange feels solid under Tony's fingers, like he’s no longer about to crumble away.

The strength of Tony's relief surprises him. His heart, no help at all, squeezes in his chest.

They separate slowly. Strange’s exhale trickles off his lips with the slightest shudder. Tony’s blood goes hot in his veins, all from one stuttered breath. They’re moving from ‘boyfriend’ to ‘you’ve got it bad’ territory.

“What happened to the ‘doting’ part?” Strange asks out of the blue. “I thought it was ‘hot, doting boyfriend,' not just 'hot boyfriend.’ Was the doting only good on spilled drinks?”

That light Tony loves so much returns to Strange’s eyes. He looks like a warning siren sounds, and for once Tony is more than happy to throw caution to the wind. “It has a shelf life,” Tony says. “But don’t worry, you can earn it back.”

“Earn it?”

“Mmhm.” Tony gives a casual smile. “I do something nice for you, you do something nice for me. ‘Doting’ is a two-way street here, Strange. The way I see it, I’ve already pulled about three times my weight tonight.”

Strange considers this. He’s so hard to read, even for Tony who prides himself on figuring out the most private people. Good thing Tony loves puzzles.

“You have, haven’t you?” Strange muses. “Something nice. I can do that. What do you want?”

It’s the absolute last thing Tony expects. His mouth moves a few times before he can make sound come out. “Wow, just like that, huh? You’re easier than you look.” He puts on a grin. “Guess you must like me.”

“Guess so,” Strange deadpans.

Tony blinks, first at Strange, then at the thumb that Strange places on his forehead. His fingers comb down Tony’s scalp, and Tony lets his legs relax a bit wider on the mattress. “What do you want?” Strange asks again.

“Another party trick?” Tony asks, staring at Strange's wrist. “Don’t go digging too deep in the gray matter, doc. Lots of weird stuff in there.”

Strange turns, a thoughtful expression softening his features. A moment passes, then he taps his thumb against Tony’s brow. “I can do that,” he says. “Lie down.”

“Wait, what- I don’t even know what I was thinking,” Tony argues.

Strange’s mouth turns upward. “I do. Lie down.” The certainty makes all types of messy things swell through Tony’s gut. Apparently all he needs is a finger on his forehead to make interest twitch between his legs.

Tony pauses despite the eager tremor in his fingers. “We can do this later,” he says. “You- I don’t know what's happening, but if you need- I want you to be-”

“Tony,” Strange interrupts. “Lie down.” The glint in his eyes makes Tony feel light-headed.

With a curious smile, Tony is more than happy to comply. Seems like there may be some positive to this crazy magic stuff after all.

*The End*


End file.
